


The downside of having a sweet aft

by rosie_red



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: He just wants a friend, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Sexual Harassment, Victim Blaming, leave Sunstreaker aloooone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_red/pseuds/rosie_red
Summary: Touch the aft without permission, you get what's coming to you, simple as. Or so it should be.Sunstreaker's striking appearance has the tendency to gain him some unwanted attention, how does he deal with it when self-shaming has become hard-lined?





	The downside of having a sweet aft

It wasn’t that Sunstreaker was untrusting per se, but rather, mechs didn’t give him much reason to trust in the first place.

“Awh c’mon, chill your gasket’s Sunshine! I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

He could hear Ironhide calling to him from the door to the shooting range he had just exited from. _Stormed out of more like_ , Sunstreaker’s processor argued.

The initial seed of doubt had been planted at how keen the old mech had been to help him with target practice. He had relaxed however, at the gruff corrections that had seemed oh-so professional and fitting from the weapons master. It was only when Ironhide had corrected his stance, his physical presence looming at the frontliner’s back, heavy arms reaching around to move his servos, had the red mech leaned in and whispered—

Sunstreaker’s tank clenched, both with shame and disgust, as he pushed away the memory. The feeling was quickly replaced with a growing anger, hot and bubbling to the surface. Anger with Ironhide for daring to cross that line, and anger with himself for not seeing it coming. How could he have let his guard down like that? What other reason would a high-ranking officer have agreed to a one-on-one session with him? Not for his _charming_ personality, that was for sure.

He made his way to the rec room in the hopes that the daily chatter and noise would distract him. And if that failed, his twin Sideswipe was due to finish a shift on the bridge in just over 15 minutes and could meet him there.

Sideswipe was the only mech that Sunstreaker truly trusted and felt comfortable with. It helped, of course, that they were two halves of a whole, both figuratively, and quite literally in terms of being split-spark twins. The mere thought of his twin had helped to sooth his volatile mood. Sideswipe would cheer him up, Sunstreaker assured himself, the red mech always did.

Unfortunately, the rec room was fairly quiet, just a few bots mingling around with their rations. The front liner chose a vacant table by the wall nearest to the door. The quiet conversations did little to pull him from his thoughts, and all too soon, Sunstreaker couldn’t help but focus on the bond he and his twin shared. It was dull and mostly shut off, standard for when either of them was on shift. If he leant on it Sideswipe would open it, of course. But distractions could lead to his twin’s work being interrupted, which when he was scheduled for the bridge would more than likely lead to some form of discipline.

No, Sunstreaker sighed, sinking deeper into his seat, he would have to ride this one out. Why did 15 Earth minutes feel so long?

“How’s it hanging mech?”

The sudden appearance of Smokescreen at his side, sliding into the seat next to him, made him jump.

“Fine.” He bit out, willing the irritating mech to frag off. Oblivious to Sunstreaker’s mental insults, Smokescreen merely grinned, denta on full display as he leaned closer to the golden mech.

“Sounds like someone’s in a bad mood”

“Yeah, and what about it?” Distantly he had to admire Smokescreen’s bravery. Sunstreaker was infamous amongst the remaining Autobot ranks for his temper. Mostly however, the blue and red mech was doing a great job of slagging him right off.

“Well it’s not exactly great for morale is it.”

“Why’s that my problem exactly?”

“It’s not. I dunno, I just thought that I could make it better for you,” He leaned in to Sunstreaker’s audial and lowered his voice, “If you catch my drift.”

If the words themselves hadn’t been enough to set him off, after his earlier encounter with the weapon’s master, Smokescreen’s servo had reached to trace a finger across the audial fin he was whispering into.

The touch sent a jolt of panic and rage to his very spark. _getoffgetoffgetoff_ his processor shrieked as his servos automatically pulled into battle ready position. Before his higher functions could properly catch up, he had twisted Smokescreen’s arm with an audible *pop* dragging a cry from him, before he body slammed the smaller mech across the table sending both him and it flying into a broken heap on the floor.

Silence.

Sunstreaker was suddenly aware of a dozen sets of optics boring into him. He was panting, servos clenching and unclenching as his battle coding screamed inside his helm.

A sudden flash of white and red plating drew his attention, as Ratchet, who had been sitting with Wheeljack and Mirage, darted to check on the passed-out Smokescreen.

“Brig.” Ratchet’s voice was cold as ice, not bothering to look up from his patient as he levied orders at the golden mech.

He found his vocaliser spitting a reply, “But he-“

“I don’t care Sunstreaker, brig now.”

And with that, battle coding still whirring, and Sideswipe demanding his presence be felt across the bond, Sunstreaker took the path through the Ark towards the brig.


End file.
